by B. C. CHASE
As a young man with a ballcap in front of him swung around one of the railings, he almost ran into a heavyset woman going up. She was panting, her face red, and clearly ill. She was struggling to pull herself up another step and cried, “Please, help me!” She fell, reaching out to the ballcapped youth for assistance. The kid jumped away from her with a quick shake of his head and a, “No, sorry, no! I can't get sick!” The poor woman was now crying out in pain. Clenching her belly, she tumbled down, landing at the feet of a couple who immediately leaned down to render assistance.
Above the din came a ding on the intercom system followed by a deep voice. As Doctor Ming-Zhen continued his push down the stairs, he listened to the words, “This is your Captain. We have been made aware of an emergency on-board the vessel and, for your safety, we must ask that all passengers proceed calmly to your cabins at this time.” He had a European accent, perhaps Danish. “Again, for your safety, proceed directly to your cabins at this time. This is not a request. This is an order from the captain. Do not be alarmed, but proceed calmly to your cabins. Once the decks are cleared, you will receive further information from myself, but, again, for your safety all passengers must proceed immediately to . . . to—“ the message was interrupted with a far-away shout and a click.
This announcement left Doctor Ming-Zhen confused. Should he rush to his cabin with the idea that his wife would have heard the message and proceed there, too? Or should he hope he would see her and his daughter in the mass of people at the ice skating rink, where they had gone to watch a show?
He stopped running at the next landing and paused to momentarily consider a map of the ship. Their cabin was far away towards the front of the vessel on deck fourteen. The ice skating rink was on the lowest deck; deck three. He suspected that once he made it to his cabin, he would not be allowed out again. He decided to go through the ice rink in the hopes of spotting them before proceeding to his cabin.
He took his first step down the next flight of stairs to deck seven, but his foot slipped and he fell, sensing the vile smell of vomit. At the base of the staircase, a woman in a fitness outfit lay motionless, her yellowed eyes gaping, vomit staining her shirt.
As he stood, he wiped the mucus from his hands onto his white shorts and continued the push down the next flight. When he reached deck four, the stairs and hallways were entirely packed with a horde from wall to wall. He could not possibly take another step towards the ice skating rink. A man beside him supporting a woman under his arm shouted, “Let us through! We need to get to the medical center!”
A man in front of them with a red shirt spun around and angrily yelled, “What do you think we're all waiting for?” His face was red, it looked like he'd had plenty of alcohol.
Doctor Ming-Zhen said, “I must reach my wife! Please, please!” But the area was so packed that, despite the good intentions of his fellow travelers, a path could not be cleared. And as he stood there, more and more people came crowding behind him until he was in the midst of a mass of writhing humanity.
When a middle-aged Pakistani man carrying a little girl arrived at the back of the crowd, he assessed the situation with horror-stricken eyes. Raising her small, limp form up to the full height of his arms, he shouted, “Please, please! My daughter is dying! PLEASE TAKE HER!” He handed her off to those nearest him, who held her above their heads. “Please send her through!” the man pleaded. Almost miraculously, the crowd passed the girl on a wave of raised hands. As she passed over Doctor Ming-Zhen and he felt her soft skin, he wondered if she wasn't already dead. In a short time, the girl had slipped beyond his vision and down the stairs towards deck three.
It was not long before the crowd packed in from the stairs to deck five began to be dispersed by members of the crew wearing masks. The crew demanded to see each person's key card and then directed them up or down toward deck three. When the crewmen had dispersed enough of the people to come near Doctor Ming-Zhen, two of them addressed the man with the red shirt, asking for his key card. He displayed his and his wife’s cards. The crewmen directed the man up to his cabin, but told the woman to proceed down to deck three as she was able. The man, already agitated, slurred, “Why do you want me to leave her here?”
One of the crewmen said, “We must clear the passageways, but she should proceed to deck three for immediate treatment.”
“Well I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here with her,” the man grunted.
“Sir, for the safety of everyone on board, you must proceed to your cabin. We only have room for the people needing immediate treatment on deck three.”
He swore, “Didn't you hear me? I said I'm not going anywhere!”
The woman, appearing embarrassed, said soothingly, “Marty, I'll be all right. I'll come up as soon as I've been treated.”
The man swore again, “Do they even know what this is? How can they treat it?”
“Bill,” the woman urged. Then she winced, holding her stomach. “Go get the kids. I'll be fine.”
The man's eyes were agonized as he said, “You're not fine.”
“Please, take care of our babies,” she pleaded. Then she bowed over with a gut-wrenching cry of pain.
“Carrie!” the man urged, leaning down to hold her. But the crew began to pull him away as she toppled to the floor, crying out, with her yellowed eyes open wide. The people around her cleared away as the woman vomited, the fluid gushing from her nose and mouth.
As the man was pulled away, the woman's eyes rolled up into her head in delirium. No one from the crowd dared touch her. Two large men took the man by each arm and drug him through an obscure crew doorway.
Suddenly, there was a ding on the intercom, “This is your Cruise Director speaking.” This time it was an Australian accent. “I must insist on your full attention at this time. Our highly qualified medical staff inform us that in order to contain this crisis and care for the ill, at this time, all women and anyone who is not well must proceed directly to deck three for immediate preventive treatment. Everyone else, proceed at once to your cabin. Again, if you are female, or ill, proceed to deck three for immediate treatment. Otherwise, return to your cabin at once. Please, all women and anyone not well, proceed calmly to deck three. All others, calmly return to your cabins and await further instruction. This is not a request. This is an order from the captain of this vessel.” And so the message continued without abatement.
Additional members of the crew continued to pour down the stairs and out of the side door. Some handed out face masks, which were gratefully accepted. The traffic on the stairs down towards deck three began to ease, and the crew continued to request key cards and direct the multitude. One of them approached Doctor Ming-Zhen and pointed up the stairs.
He strode up the stairs in agony. He had been so close to the ice skating rink, and possibly his wife and daughter. Now he was headed up to his cabin where he was certain he would be isolated from any information at all. Every few steps, there was another member of the crew who asked to see his key card and then pointed him towards his section of the ship.
On deck five, he found himself surrounded by a mass of people rushing towards the outdoor promenade (a deck that ran in a ring around the perimeter of the ship). He overheard someone shout, “They're lowering lifeboats!” Whether he wanted to be or not, he was swept into the crowd flowing towards the open sliding glass doors onto the deck.
The setting sun resting just over the horizon almost blinded him as he emerged outside. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a gigantic throng filling the 20-foot-wide deck space. Above this were the massive, orange life rafts, large vessels with enclosed roofs and windows. One of them was suspended far out from the side of the ship and was steadily dropping down towards the deck on its steel cables. On the side were the words “370 PERS. RESCUE VESSEL” in square print. Like a swarm of ants, people were climbing over one another to try to reach up for the descending craft.
The shouts, screams and cries of everyone in the area were terror
-inducing, and the chaos of the selfish pushing and jostling of every person made Doctor Ming-Zhen feel helpless, especially when he saw the hand of an elderly woman desperately reaching up from the floor as she was trampled underfoot. He knew there was nothing he could do.
A teenage girl, apparently leaping from the deck above, landed feet first on the top of the lifeboat and rolled off the far side, her scream echoing off the ship as she tumbled toward the water below. Right after she fell, a man followed suit, but he successfully landed on the boat, steadying himself on all fours, his arched silhouette outlined against the sunset as the boat lowered farther down. After his success, a steady stream of people spilled from the deck above. Many of them cracked off the side, but before long the boat was host to a mass of people, like bees on a giant hive. One man, pushed outward by others behind him on deck, reached out so far that he fell between the boat and the ship's rail.
Doctor Ming-Zhen was now packed in the crowd so tightly that his arms were pressed to his sides—and the pressure was increasing. Screaming children were being held up in the air, whether to save them from being crushed or to give their parents priority in an effort to get to the lifeboat, Doctor Ming-Zhen couldn't tell. He was totally powerless and moving slowly toward the rail, the last place he wanted to be.
When the life raft was level with the deck it suddenly jolted to a stop and, with a loud bang, reversed its descent. As it swiftly ascended, those clinging to the side were scraped off by the overhang of the deck above.
Suddenly, the distressed voice of a crew member on a megaphone “YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE! LIFEBOATS NOT LAUNCHING! RETURN YOUR CABIN IMMEDIATELY! ATTENTION: LIVEBOATS NOT LAUNCHING NOW. LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!” Doctor Ming-Zhen could see the crew dispersing people from behind the doorway. As they did so, the congestion began to ease on the deck. But the relative calm was disrupted by the shrieking of a woman near the rail. Her face betrayed recent Botox and she was wearing the clothes of a preteen though she clearly was in her forties or later. Having pushed her children behind her, she was yelling at the top of her voice to a man who was bent over, clutching the rail with one hand. “GET OFF THE SHIP! GET OFF! YOU'LL INFECT OUR KIDS!”
The gray-haired man, so sick he didn't seem to notice her antics, leaned over the edge of the rail to vomit. She swiftly rushed up behind him to shove against his back. The man steadied himself with both arms, but the lady continued to thrust, “DON'T BE SELFISH, HAROLD! GET OFF!”
The crowd had by now cleared a half-circle around the man, and one woman voiced a protest to the Botox woman, “For heaven's sake, leave him alone!”
The crazed woman shouted, “He'll get us all sick! He'll kill all of you!”
A man stepped up behind her and reached for her arm, “Let me take him down for treatment,” he said, tugging her back.
In one swift motion, she flung his arm away and struck him across the face, her nails leaving four bloody streaks. She screamed a curse, “He's dying anyway!” and then, with all her strength, launched the sick man over the rail. Some of her audience gasped in alarm as he plunged off the edge. Then, they all stared at her in shocked silence. The man she had scratched swore in her face before turning away with his wife.
The Botox woman took her children by the hands and pushed through the people to slip anonymously into the pandemonium behind them. Then, a bulky man with a security badge stepped in front of the crowd and raised a pistol to the air, shouting with a booming voice, “I NEED EVERYONE TO LEAVE THIS AREA AND HEAD TO YOUR CABINS RIGHT NOW!”
A lady protested, “But that woman just—“
“TO YOUR CABINS NOW! CLEAR THE AREA!”
Gradually, the crowd dispersed. Doctor Ming-Zhen himself turned and was able to make his way back through the doorway and into the hallway. He noticed that order was beginning to take root; directing the masses were oversized men who made no effort to hide their weaponry, and the crew generally had dropped polite intonations in favor of direct commands.
He was hopeful that his wife and daughter would be waiting for him at their cabin. His overpowering logic, however, told him otherwise. Regardless, he had no choice but to walk up the stairs toward deck twelve where his cabin was aft, very near the back of the ship.
The closer he came, the more the fear from a sudden nightmarish mental image began to grip him. He'd imagined his wife and daughter there in the room, crumpled on the floor with their yellowed eyes gaping open.
He was at the door now, and he slowly took his keycard out of his pocket. Slipping it into the slot, he heard the click of the lock. He pushed the door open.
Cognitive LifeScience Corporation
Gary was waiting.
Immediately after fleeing Biocertica, he had called Abael Fiedler and told him he had an “extra sample” for him. Now he bided his time in the dark just outside the elevator.
When the doors opened, he heard the electric whir of Abael's wheelchair as he maneuvered out. Before he got far, Gary stepped out and pointed his gun at Abael’s chest.
Abael's face was usually stricken with a somewhat bored scowl, and as he surveyed Gary with the weapon, his expression didn't change except for the slight elevation of one eyebrow. He sighed, “I must say Gary, I didn't take you for an idiot.”
Gary growled with a wild look in his eyes, “I need you to tell me the truth.”
Abael pushed himself up taller in his chair, “The truth of what?”
“I want to know where my son is, dead or alive.”
Abael's bored face transformed into a thoughtful one. It was obvious he was processing what Gary had just said, and it didn't take him long. “So I take it you discovered the source of the samples you receive?”
Gary's eyelids drooped, “Yes. It didn't take long to figure out after they made the mistake of coming after my own child.”
Abael sighed, “I don't know where your son is, but I'm sure wherever that is, he is in a thousand pieces and has served his purpose.”
Enraged, Gary hammered the pistol across Abael's face.
Abael hardly flinched before raising his eyes to Gary with a wicked hatred. With an even tone, he said, “Violence is never the answer.”
Gary tossed his Cognitive LifeScience phone into Abael's lap, “I assumed you might not know where my son is, but you can call someone who does.”
Abael blinked at him, his suddenly snakish voice hissing, “I don't think you realize the power that we are.” He tilted his head, staring at Gary with dark, distant eyes, “Are you certain you wish to make an enemy of me?”
“Just make the call and tell me where he is.”
Abael shrugged and lifted the phone. He dialed slowly, his extremely long and bony fingers looking otherworldly, and held the instrument to his ear, “Yes, Andy. I need to know about one of the samples.” He looked at Gary, “When did they collect him?”
“Two weeks ago. He was two years old. Jeffery Riley.”
“It was collected two weeks ago. The name was Jeffery Riley. Two years of age. We need to know where he was sent.”
“And if he is alive.”
Abael rolled his eyes, sucking between his teeth, “And we need to know the long-term plan for the sample.”
Gary could hear a man's garbled voice on the other end. When the call was over, Gary held his hand out for the phone, which Abael handed to him. “So?” Gary said.
Abael said, “I congratulate you. He was collected because of his extremely good test scores with Mensa. Bravo.”
“And what did they do with him?”
“They sent him to PLC. Preseption Logic Corp.”
“Where is that?”
“Taiwan.”
“Taiwan? Why didn't they just send him here?”
“Your facility doesn't process living samples,” Abael smiled with an evil thrill.
“So he's alive and he's in Taiwan?”
“Isn't that what I just said?” Abael snapped.
Gary motioned, “I'll take the elevator down.”
“Be m
y guest,” Abael said and whirred his wheelchair from the door.
Gary pushed the button and backed in, still aiming his weapon at Abael.
Abael said, “You should be very afraid, Mr. Riley. Those who oppose us find we possess a very great power.” The elevator doors began to close, and Abael raised his voice, “Save one to lose another!”
By “save one to lose another” Gary could only assume that Abael intended to go after his wife, so as soon as he left the building, he called Stacy. He heard her angry answer, “Gary, where the—”
He cut her off, “I don't have time to explain, so just listen. You need to leave the house now. Run as fast as you can to your best friend's house and ask her to drive you to the church. I'll meet you there. Oh, and don't take your phone. Leave it in the house.”
There was silence, then finally Stacy said, “What did you do? What's going on?”
“I found out where Jeffery is. He could still be alive.”
He heard his wife gasp. Then, tersely, “Gary, don't tempt me to think something I can't believe.”
“I know you blame me for what happened. I know you're not wanting to trust me right now, but . . . but you have to. I can't keep this phone with me anymore, so I can't explain. I'll see you at the church. OK?”
There was a pause. Then, “OK.”
“I love you,” and he hung up. He hadn't used that phrase in more years than he could remember because it wouldn't have been honest in more years than he could remember. Now, though, he meant it.
He tossed his phone out the window. Then he reached down and unplugged his insurance company's safe driving monitor to throw it out also, just for good measure. The church was about forty-five minutes from Cognitive LifeScience.